Red
by Katt9966
Summary: A companion piece to my story Blue
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Red.

Red all over her hands, staining them. It was a startling colour every inch of her flesh shaded crimson, scarlet, blood-red, for a moment Claudette felt nausea threatening to overwhelm her but she forced it down. She made herself relive the events of the past hour, try to see what had gone wrong, how had things deteriorated and become such a mess.

It was a routine bust; a group of crackheads had robbed a convenience store killing the owner. The idiots were so stupid that the first thing they'd done with the money they'd got was score some drugs and hole up in a local motel to get high. A witness outside the store had noted the license plate number of their get away car. It had been circulated and spotted by a uniform patrol who'd called it in. Sure enough when her and Dutch along with the strike team had arrived at the motel there it was parked up. A quick word with the motel manager had matched a room number to the car; everyone had donned a kevlar vest and taken position. The motel rooms were on two levels and situated around the carpark like three sides of a rectangle. The room their suspects occupied was up on the first floor in the middle of one of the long sides of the not quite rectangle. This was going to be a model operation, the element of surprise was on their side plus the robbers obviously weren't very bright. The strike team was leading the assault on the room; she and Dutch were down on the ground floor providing cover. Dutch had been standing about 10 feet in front of her, like her his attention was focused on the upper level room, he had his gun drawn and pointing upwards at arms length. The strike team had timed everything perfectly, the thin motel room door had given way at the first attempt, the suspects were still high from their latest hit and had been taken by surprise. However, just as it was registering with the strike team that they were a suspect short all hell had broken lose. 

Claudette's attention had been on the broken down door of the room above her then she had heard two things in rapid succession, the first had been a gunshot coming from the other side of the motel's upper level and her partner making a strange, almost soft, grunting sound. She could remember spinning around and seeing Dutch stand frozen for a moment, his back to her and then he'd fallen down to the ground his gun slipping from his fingers. She'd wanted to go to him but gunfire was erupting all around her, and all she could do was shout his name as she'd dived for cover. The sounds of the strike team opening fire above her was deafening, but all her attention was focused on her partner's unmoving form, lying completely exposed in the middle of the motel carpark. The gun battle was short lived, the suspect going down in a hail of gunfire. At the first shout of "CLEAR" Claudette had run to Dutch. She'd knelt next to him, ignoring everything else going on around her. When she had looked down at him she felt as though her heart had stopped in her chest. He was so pale and his eyes had been staring straight up at the sky, and he'd been completely still. She had been convinced for a moment that he was dead, and then he had blinked. Nothing else, but Claudette had felt her heart seem to restart itself in her chest, relief washing through her. He was winded that was all, even wearing a vest it was no joke taking a bullet, the velocity that it impacted at would knock the wind out of anyone. She had called his name expecting him to come back to himself and turn towards her; instead he completely ignored her. Frowning she had leaned over him trying to get his attention while his eyes had stared listlessly at the sky above them, and that had been when she'd first seen the blood.

God, there had seemed to be so much of it, it was an every growing puddle on Dutch's left side. It was pooled on the concrete of the carpark surface, glistening in the sunlight. Christ her mind began to move at a hundred miles an hour, he was hit but how he was wearing his vest and from what she could see it was unmarked. Her hands were skimming over him trying to find the origin of all that red. Then, there high on his left side under his arm at a spot where the vest didn't cover him her hands had touched warm liquid, and when she'd drawn them back as if burnt they had been covered in red.

"Officer down, my partners been hit I need an ambulance now!" She had turned from Dutch and screamed this over her shoulder knowing that their colleagues would respond. Sure enough she heard the shout of "officer down" being repeated and knew the message was being relayed. Turning her attention back to Dutch she tried to repress the anger she felt welling up inside herself. She was angry at the waste of space drug addict who'd shot her partner, angry at herself for not looking after him for letting him down when he'd needed it, instead of watching the strike team charging the room she should have been watching Dutch's back, protecting him. The eyes that were looking back at her seemed a little more focused,

"Dutch can you hear me son," Claudette had leaned down closer to him, trying to ensure he realized she was there, that he wasn't alone. Reaching out she took his right hand into hers, shivering slightly at the coldness she found there, and she squeezed it tightly willing him to stay with her.

"It's going to be OK," she tried to reassure him, and herself. "The ambulance is on its way, just hold on Dutch." He was becoming agitated, his eyes held a glimpse of fear in their depths and he was trying to move. Claudette's other hand found its way to his forehead, smoothing back his soft, brown hair trying to calm him and stop him moving around and perhaps aggravating his wound. Suddenly he stilled beneath her touch; the strength seemed to drain out of him, just as his life's blood was doing. She watched terrified as his eyes began to slide shut,

"Dutch," she shouted, "you stay with me now son! Come on Dutch open your eyes, open your eyes and you look at me dammit."

Claudette was so focused on Dutch that she nearly missed Vic Mackey drooping to his knees across from her. 

"Aw shit," she heard him whisper, "come on Dutchboy don't do this."

Claudette looked up at him and was startled by the worry she saw in Vic's face, mirroring her own worried expression. Vic reached forward and pressed his hands against Dutch's side as if he could keep all that blood inside him. It was then that Claudette realized that Mackey was actually kneeling in the puddle of Dutch's blood on the floor, it had soaked into his trousers, and she had felt vomit rising in her throat at the sight. As Vic's hands pressed into Dutch's side he had cried out in agony, arching slightly off of the ground. It was the first sound he had made and it ripped her heart apart to hear it. Dutch's eyes snapped back open at the shock of the pain he felt and he turned towards the source of that pain. As he turned towards Vic he began to articulate what he was feeling, a steady keening sound coming from his mouth full of misery and pain. Claudette knew she would never forget that sound as long as she lived, she knew it would haunt her nightmares for years to come. She felt tears pricking at her eyes but blinked them away as Dutch turned back towards her,

"Ssshhh it's going to be alright son, it's going to be fine. I'm here, I won't leave you, your going to be fine you'll see." Claudette crooned to Dutch, trying desperately to comfort him. Her hand continued to rhytmnically stroke his hair back from his forehead, she kept eye contact with him as if sheer will alone could keep him anchored to her.

"Where's that ambulance?" Mackey had shouted over his shoulder at the group of worried cops gathered there.

"It's on its way, a couple more minutes," someone, Claudette thought it sounded like Lem answered. Another sound claimed her attention then, Dutch's breathing. He had been panting, gasping slightly as he'd breathed but now it sounded even more laboured and he seemed to be choking on something. Leaning down closer to his face,

"What's wrong Dutch, what is it," she'd asked, her voice coloured by her growing feeling of fear. Dutch had coughed weakly and then convulsed in agony as blood had spurted from his mouth running down his chin. Claudette felt the tight grip she held on her emotions slipping away. To her horror what little colour Dutch had in his face rapidly drained away leaving him far too pale. A horrible sucking sound was coming from the wound site that Vic was keeping pressure on and as he struggled for breath Dutch's lips took on a bluish tinge.

"Oh Jesus no, come on son fight just a little bit longer the ambulance is nearly here. You have to fight, hang on I know it's hard but don't you dare leave me." Claudette begged him. Then to her relief she heard the siren of the ambulance approaching the motel. Leaning closer she firmly reiterated her plea,

"Hang on son, it's going to be alright now Dutch the ambulance is here, everything's going to be fine if you just fight a little longer, I know you can do it." 

Suddenly the paramedics were there pushing her and Vic aside as they went into action to help Dutch. Claudette had stood up giving them room to work but not wanting to move too far away in case Dutch needed her. She felt Vic move close beside her and she appreciated the silent support he was offering her. She watched the paramedics work on her partner, hearing words like "open pneumothorax"…"possible hemothorax", being used by them. As she listened she felt afraid and powerless the belief that she was going to lose her partner, her friend growing.

"His pressure's in the basement man we need to move now," one of the paramedics said to his partner.

"OK lets scoop and run." Came the reply. "We want to get this vest off to access the wound site and put a dressing on. Get the backboard and we'll do it as we get him on it."

The first paramedic ran to the ambulance. Dutch was becoming restless moving his head from side to side as if looking for something.

"What's his name?" the paramedic asked without taking his attention from his patient.

"Dutch, Dutch Wagenbach." It was Vic Mackey who answered, Claudette's mouth had gone dry and she wasn't sure she could have replied.

"OK Dutch I need you to calm down, try to keep still. We're trying to help you. Can you hear me Dutch, can you look at me!" The paramedic shouted at Dutch. "He's confused, definitely shocky lets get on with this." He said to his partner as he returned with the backboard. With an ease born of plenty of practice they had the bulletproof vest off of Dutch and him secured on the backboard in no time. Dutch had cried out in pain as he'd been moved but he'd opened his eyes again, which Claudette grabbed onto as a good sign. However, his stare had a glassy, fixed air to it that frightened her, he was staring up at the blue sky again. Then suddenly he was gone swallowed up in the back of the ambulance that left with a police escort heading to the hospital.

"Come on," she felt Vic steering her towards the strike team's SUV. "Lets get you to the hospital to be with him, OK." He said. The trip to the hospital passed in a blur for Claudette and now here she was sitting in the hospital waiting room while Vic tried to find out what was going on. She sighed suddenly feeling exhausted and looked down again at her hands which were still stained red from Dutch's blood.


	2. Red Chapter 2

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Red – Chapter 2.

Claudette looked up sharply as the door to the waiting room clicked open, she stood as Captain Aceveda and The Chief entered the room. The Chief's face was schooled into a politician's mask of official concern, but Aceveda looked genuinely upset as he approached Claudette,

"How is he, have you heard anything yet?" He asked.

"They haven't told us anything, Vic's gone to try and find something out, but it looked bad really bad. He took a bullet to his chest, it got past his vest and…. well there was a lot of blood," as she said this Claudette glanced down at her still blood stained hands. Aceveda's eyes followed hers and she saw him wince at the red stains he saw there.

"Do you want to wash up," He asked just as the door opened to admit a frustrated looking Vic Mackey.

"What did they say, how is he?" Claudette asked him in a rush.

Vic sighed, "They wouldn't tell me anything except that they're still working on him in the ER, they're trying to stabilize him enough to get him to surgery. The nurse said that we have to wait here and that the doctor would be in to tell us everything as soon as he could. Sorry." He added sadly. 

"Damn," Claudette muttered. She raised her hand to rub over her tired eyes and then saw the blood there and stopped herself. "I think I could do with a wash," she said as she shuddered slightly.

"Yeah me too," Vic agreed. "I wonder if they've got some scrubs or something I could borrow."

When he had knelt next to Dutch to keep pressure on his gunshot wound Vic had knelt in a pool of his blood and it had covered his trousers from the knees down and was rapidly drying and turning the material stiff and uncomfortable. When this was combined with the blood that also stained his hands and lower arms Vic felt filthy, sticky, and he could smell nothing but the overwhelming coppery stench of blood, the smell of death he thought involuntarily.

"When you get back I need to know what happened, IAD will be investigating plus the press will be all over it to." Aceveda stated. While he spoke he kept his gaze fixed on Mackey, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Fine," Vic replied. His eyes looking back at Aceveda, not wavering.

Claudette snorted in mild disgust, what was it with those two, everything had to be turned into a pissing contest between them. Well as far as she was concerned they could get on with it the only person she was interested in right now was her partner. She left them behind and went into the ladies room. She paused in front of the mirror looking at her reflection, as she stepped towards the sink to wash her hands she glanced down at them again. Dutch's blood had dried on them, bits flaking off and falling away as a fine dust, some of it had gathered in the creases in her fingers and her palms highlighting the whirls and loops there. Suddenly Claudette felt an overwhelming feeling of nausea; she only just made it to a stall before she began to vomit profusely. After several minutes of violent sickness she was finally left dry heaving and gasping for breath. When her stomach at last settled she rose a little unsteadily and made her way over to the sink. She wanted to wash out her mouth, but first she had to get rid of the red from her hands. Switching on the tap she thrust her hands under the rushing water, and stood transfixed as she watched the water swirling red, and then pink, and finally clear down the plughole. With her hands finally clean Claudette cupped them together to gather some water to wash out her mouth, and then she splashed some on her face. With hands that now trembled slightly she patted her face dry with a paper towel. Taking a deep steadying breath she left the restroom and returned to the waiting room. She found The Chief and Aceveda deep in conversation which came to an abrupt halt at her reappearance.

Aceveda rose and moved towards her,

"What happened out there Detective, this was supposed to be a routine bust?" He got no further as the door opened to admit a clean Vic Mackey and a blood stained doctor.

"You're here for Detective Wagenbach?" The doctor asked.

Claudette moved forward anxiously, trying unsuccessfully to read the expression on his face, trying to see if he had good or bad news.

"I'm his partner," she said before anyone else had the chance to speak. "How is he, is he OK?" 


End file.
